


we're all made of the same cup of dust

by cassissoda



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - War, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassissoda/pseuds/cassissoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Monaco 2008, Nico finds that he isn't the same. (Or, in another life, he fought in a war, and had fallen in love with Jenson after being sent home from the war front.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're all made of the same cup of dust

'It's a blessing, isn't it? To be able,

days at a time,

to forget what we are.'

— Chana Bloch, [Blood Honey](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/245370)

 

It all changes after Monaco. Monaco, where Nico crashes at Piscine on lap 62.

He gets out of the car, unhurt. He's alright, he'll live to race again. It's a race to forget now, nothing more.

 

At night, Nico dreams. He hears the rapid firing of shells, the burst of explosions and stars behind his eyelids, but he awakens to the roar of thunder and the sound of rain falling outside. It's nothing. It's the weather. It's just a dream.

 

The first time it happens, Nico wakes up, disorientated, pupils blown wide and god he's shaking, he's shivering and his shirt clings to his skin, wet with perspiration and he's _afraid_ -

'Nico? Nico!'

-and Nico stares at Jenson, eyes glassy and he's not even sure if it's real, he's still here with Jenson because it doesn't feel like he is, the bed sheets underneath his fingers don't feel like they're really there, they feel too smooth too unreal and his skin prickles with fear. But this isn't the fear he feels from his car sliding across a slippery track and crashing straight into the barriers or from finding that the brakes don't work anymore or from someone clipping his front wing and having his car spin out of control. This fear is raw and surging, coursing through his veins, whispering over and over again in his ears _I will consume you and eat you alive_ -

'Nico!'

Nico doesn't realise that he's crying until much later, when he's shaking in Jenson's arms. His cheeks are wet and he doesn't know why the tears keep flowing. It feels like someone has just torn his heart out and flung it aside, trampled on it and tried to stuff it back into the cavity in his chest so that he would be able to live again.

'Bad dream?' Jenson asks. His voice is a low murmur, and he has one hand on the small of Nico's back.

'You're here,' Nico says later on, voice muffled, face still buried in Jenson's chest. He's with Jenson, here in Monaco. They'll have another race to head to soon enough, but not just yet. For now, they've got time to themselves. For now. There's nowhere else he'd rather be. Jenson's shirt is soaked with tears now, and Jenson has his fingers threaded in Nico's hair, stroking gently. 'Jenson.' He pulls away, looks at Jenson, eyes searching, and Jenson's name on Nico's lips is a plea, a prayer, and a sigh all at once.

'You know I wouldn't leave,' Jenson says, and Nico makes a strangled sort of noise as he wraps his arms around Jenson, hugging him closer.

Nico aches, and he doesn't even know why.

 

The rain falls. Their uniforms are caked in mud and blood and the rain is starting to wash it all away. Nico stumbles, his feet feel like dead weight. His hand curls instinctively around his rifle though, and he lifts his leg to take another step, and another, and another. There is no end to this, there will be no end because they are fighting and fighting and Nico doesn't know why they're fighting but they are. It's the same lines over and over again – they're fighting to keep the kingdom intact, against the invasion of the motherland by enemy forces. They're fighting for freedom, against the enemy who has been trying to launch a full scale invasion for the past few years to no avail. The lower countries have fallen, and if the middle countries fall, soon the centre will be left defenceless, and the kingdom will be no more. That's what they say, over and over again, but out here, when Nico's shooting blindly at an enemy that looks so much like his own countrymen, except clad in different uniform, he cannot help but wonder if they're truly fighting for their country or some crazed ideal that the monarchy and parliament is so desperately trying to protect. But soon enough there will be shooting, and soon there will be no rest, no time for such thoughts. And all Nico will be able to hear is

_bang bang bang bang_

_what the fuck are you doing you fucking idiot all heads down_

_cover the rear watch your legs there's barbed wire all over the place_

_make sure you don't fucking get shot_

when all he's trying to remember the swelling strings of an orchestra the soft notes of the piano as he plays pressing down on keys of ivory and ebony but all that comes is the roar of military brass that tells him to march on and fight on.

'You're a pretty one,' someone had said to him two weeks ago, someone with dirt on his face and gaps between his teeth. He had lifted a hand to touch Nico's cheek and all Nico had noticed were the dirt beneath his fingernails as he had stood rooted to the ground. Nico had chopped off his blonde locks, had spent four months on the war front putting his life on the line only for someone from another regiment to look at him like he was nothing more than a tasty piece of meat during his downtime.

'Fuck off,' Nico had hissed, jerking backwards out of his touch, but instead, the man had fisted his hands in his uniform, pulling him closer with a sickening grin on his face.

'What a filthy mouth ye have, bet ye love getting fucked in the arse,' the soldier had snarled, reaching forward to grope Nico, but he had stepped aside, causing him to trip over his feet instead.

'Stay away,' Nico had said, heart pounding hard and fast, threatening to jump right out of his chest at any moment. His mouth had been dry with fear, and later on, he wonders why he had felt it then. He has been living in perpetual fear of losing his life ever since he had been shipped out to the war front, yet this is what makes his stomach turn, makes his insides clench up and make his mind go blank.

There's shouting and screaming and there are orders but Nico doesn't hear them because he sees that soldier again, with his manic grin and filthy face and Nico knows that he should run, this is an ambush of some sort, he should be getting his rifle up and getting ready to shoot but all he does is stand there, legs numb, fingers trembling, and the soldier lurches forward with a spray of blood all over and Nico screams.

 

Jenson's cooking in Nico's kitchen, frying eggs in a pan when he feels a familiar weight on his shoulder. Nico places a kiss to his neck, lingering, when Jenson says 'Careful princess, the oil's hot.'

Nico draws away, watching Jenson quietly from his place by the counter.

'Penny for your thoughts?'

Nico hesitates, and Jenson turns the fire off.

'I dreamt... I was...' Nico starts, trying to find the right words. 'We were at war. I think I died,' he says finally, and it sounds terrible now that he has said it, like it's final, it's the end. But he doesn't know what sort of end it is, and it's unsettling.

Jenson stills, looking up at Nico, and the egg that he's removing from the pan flops over on the plate.  
'You're still here.' There should be something else Jenson can say that would make things better, but the words that slip out of his mouth are the only ones he can think of.

'I know,' Nico says, swallowing hard. He frowns, looking away, and Jenson walks over, handing him a plate of food before lightly kissing his brow. It makes him feel better, just a little bit. He tries to push the thoughts of his dream aside because there are better things to be worrying about, like how shitty his Formula One season is right now, but then again, he's here in Monaco in June with Jenson for company. They don't have to sneak around for once, and all is well. At least, for now. Nico tells himself that everything is going to be just fine, but as he repeats those words in his head, there's a strange feeling settling in the pit of his stomach that doesn't seem to go away.

 

_'This one's still alive!'_

_'We'll have to send him back or he won't survive.'_

_'He'll no longer be fit to serve if we keep him here.'_

_'He leaves tomorrow, with the others. By sea.'_

'Don't move.'

Nico obeys, chewing on his lower lip as the nurse tightens the bandage around his arm, but he yelps as she pulls it a little too tight for his liking.

'Squeamish, princess?'

The voice comes from the bed beside Nico, and he turns to face the person, about to give a snappy reply when the nurse tugs at his bandage again.

'Ignore him, he's a childish git,' the nurse says, giving Nico a smile. Nico hurts all over, but he offers her a smile in return. 'He's just jealous of your hair.'

'My hair,' Nico says, mouth dry. He wants to reach for his head but the nurse stops him, placing a hand on his arm.

'Try not to move around too much or the wounds will open again. We wouldn't want that now, would we?'

'Lovely locks you've got,' the voice says, and Nico turns to face the man, about to give him a sharp rebuke when he continues, saying 'I'm Jenson Button. Stuck in here because of my leg, and a bit of other things,' he waves a hand about nonchalantly. 'What about you?'

 

All Nico wants is for everything to go away and away and away, and he cries out as Jenson thrusts into him, hips snapping forward. Magny Cours had been horrible, and all Nico wants is to forget, forget, and forget. He moans, low and drawn out, hands knotted in the bed sheets, tugging hard.

It's no better for Jenson, who clutches at Nico and leaves bruises all over, and he's still got his jeans and underwear on, pulled down awkwardly to mid-thigh and the material is rough against Nico's inner thighs. There will be marks tomorrow, and Nico doesn't mind. He needs them, needs to remember that he has had this, with Jenson.

 

In the morning Jenson wakes up to Nico trembling beside him, blonde locks clinging to his face, there's a sheen of perspiration on his skin and his cheeks are flushed, and Jenson shakes him awake, clutching at his shoulders.

'Jenson,' Nico says, eyes glazed. His skin feels feverish to Jenson's touch, and Jenson looks at him, eyes filled with worry. 'Jenson,' he repeats, voice weak, and pulls Jenson into an embrace. He vaguely remembers being injured, Jenson had been there, beside him, but somehow they hadn't known each other? But how could it have been?

'Nightmare?' Jenson asks after some time. He had gone to get a washcloth for Nico, who's now sitting upright on the bed, clutching at his head. He wipes the perspiration from Nico's skin, and Nico nods mutely, letting Jenson fuss over him.

 

In the first week Jenson had proved to be a glorious distraction. He had talked enough for the both of them, when Nico hadn't felt like talking, and his voice helped Nico endure the pain as his bandages were changed and his wounds were dressed once more. The doctors tell Nico that he'll be fine within two weeks or so, fit to return to the front. They don't say much about Jenson though, and whenever Nico tries to listen when the doctor visits, Jenson waves a hand at him, telling him 'shoo boy', and Nico glares at him. He pouts, and god it's been years since he has done that when he couldn't get his way, and Jenson laughs, turning away. He asks the doctor to lean in to whisper in his ear, and Nico tells him that he hates him for hiding things from him.

By the second week Jenson makes his way over to Nico's bed sometimes, sitting on the chair beside him. The nurses approve, saying it's good that they have one another for company, and the doctors tell Nico that soon enough he'll be able to get up again and start doing things he used to be able to do. Nico watches as Jenson pushes his covers aside and makes his way over to his bed, and he realises that Jenson walks with a limp that he seems desperate to conceal. Nico tries to bring it up, but Jenson steers the conversation away skilfully. Jenson had fought in the war, had mentioned it in a passing comment, but when Nico had tried to pick up on it, Jenson had already moved on to something else.

The third week rolls around, and by now the bandages are coming off, and Nico's going to be able to walk again. It is then when Jenson tells him that he'll be leaving soon and Nico looks at him, dismayed. Jenson looks startled, and tells him that he's pretty sure that Nico will be able to leave soon too, but that isn't what Nico's concerned about.

Truth is, Nico isn't sure if he wants to go, if he wants _Jenson_ to go.

 

There's three weeks between Hungary and Valencia, and Nico returns to Monaco for a bit. He's not due at the team base in Grove until a week later, and he lies alone on his bed, thinking of Jenson. Jenson, who isn't going to come by, or maybe he is, Nico isn't too sure. To be honest, he should be resting, not caring about anything or anyone to do with Formula One before things start again in full swing in a few days, but he's restless, especially when he dreams of things he cannot explain. He should pick up the phone to give Jenson a call. He chews on his fingernails, he should really kick the habit but he's unable to, especially when he's feeling lost and nervous and horrible at the same time.

The phone rings two days later, and then the doorbell rings a couple of hours later.

Jenson presses wet, sloppy kisses all over Nico's skin, and Nico squirms against him. Kisses on Nico's forehead, jaw, neck and collarbone, down his chest and down his stomach. His hands map every inch of Nico's body, hands moving from the crooks of Nico's knees to the back of his thighs, touching him all over until Nico's crying out for more. Nico arches against Jenson, fingernails sinking into Jenson's skin and when he comes undone, he's practically sobbing, breath torn from his lips. Jenson looks down at him, rubs circles into his skin and laughs shakily.

'How could you have missed me when you last saw me on Sunday?' Jenson asks, a protective hand placed just above Nico's hipbone.

'Feels like a lifetime ago,' Nico answers. There's a flush high on his cheeks and when Jenson stares for what seems like far too long, he buries his face where Jenson's neck meets his shoulder, and Jenson sighs, holding him close.

 

Nico leaves the hospital with a letter clenched tight in his fist. Jenson's penmanship is barely legible, but he knows where to find him. He isn't too familiar with these parts, but he'll get by. There's nowhere for him to go anyway, given how his family's gone, and it had been nice of Jenson to offer to take him in for a few days before he leaves for the war front, now that he has recovered.

The truth is, Nico doesn't want to go, he's afraid of going back to the war now that he has known peace once again, even though there's air raid sirens every other night and sometimes it's _BOOM BOOM BOOM_ and it scares the living daylights out of him but he has no place here, he doesn't quite belong any more, the men in his platoon need him, the men he fights with needs him and he's escaping by staying here, he ought to go back. The guilt gnaws at him because he's breathing in safety here when he should be living in fear of a gas attack at any moment.

Yet this is different from living in constant fear of death and now he has someone he has come to care for, and he had always known that caring would kill him, but now, but now.

Jenson lives in a tiny one room flat. It looks respectable, and he apologises for having only a single bed, saying that he'd lay out a mat for himself on the floor. Nico looks at him, licking his lips, and he watches as Jenson stares, transfixed.

(Nico had been afraid, so afraid that he had read everything wrongly, that the signs had just been him projecting his desires on Jenson, but when Jenson pulls him in for a kiss it feels like the greatest burden he has ever carried has just been lifted from his shoulders)

Jenson is careful, his touch is soft and gentle and he traces Nico's scars and Nico whimpers, unused to being treated this way. They are sprawled over Jenson's bed, and Nico makes sure that his weight isn't on Jenson's bad leg. He leans up, lets his fingers trace the slope of Jenson's shoulders and presses a kiss to the skin above Jenson's collarbone before sucking a bruise into it.

Nico's arms are snug around Jenson's neck later on as he kisses him. He presses his lips against Jenson's for a while before sighing as Jenson's tongue slips past his lips, exploring, tasting. Nico hasn't done this since university and the memory hurts, because he had left in the middle of his first year for the war. He could've had so much more, could've ended up designing airships and automobiles of the future instead of being stuck on the battlefield, fighting for a cause he isn't even sure of any more. He had gone because he had been drafted, and because he had thought that there would be honour and perhaps, glory, in fighting for the country, but now...

Jenson's touch takes the pain away though, his hands sliding under the thin cotton of Nico's shirt to place his fingers on Nico's skin, going lower to cup Nico's arse and pull him closer. Nico rocks against him, something stirs inside him and it's warm and delightful and glorious, he hasn't felt it for far too long, and Jenson looks up at him, breathless, lips kiss swollen.

'Is this okay?' Nico asks, unsure, and Jenson laughs. His blue eyes sparkle in the dim light, and Nico thinks that it reminds him of the sky, wild and free.

'Of course, princess,' Jenson teases, and Nico glares at him, leaning in to bite hard on Jenson's lower lip.

 

The race in Shanghai is horrible, and Nico shows up at Jenson's door, half drunk and half delirious. Jenson looks worse for wear when he pulls him in, and Nico had come to him to take away the pain, but instead, they end up kissing on the bed, half naked, with Nico curled up in Jenson's arms.

'There's still Brazil,' Jenson says quietly.

_But it isn't going to matter_ are the words left unspoken. They both know about the state of the cars they are driving, there's no way for them to score any better.

 

Nico wakes up to Jenson putting a wet towel above his head.

'Hey,' he says weakly, trying to get up, and Jenson shakes his head, putting a hand on his arm, indicating that he should rest.

Later on, Jenson tells him that he had been running a fever. Nico asks if he had talked in his sleep and Jenson grins, saying that he had called his name, once or twice, but the grin soon disappears as he continues talking. He had been worried when Nico would not wake up, and if Nico hadn't woken up, he would've gotten him back to the hospital. Somehow.

Nico tells Jenson that he has had the strangest dream ever. Somehow, somewhere, in another lifetime, perhaps, they had been together in different circumstances, in peacetime. They had had to hide, but they had been happy. At least, Nico thinks that they had been happy. He bites his lower lip in frustration, trying to remember to no avail.

Jenson sighs, settling down on the bed next to Nico. He tells him that it's fine if he doesn't remember, because what good are dreams when compared to the real thing? Nico looks at him, frowning, and Jenson leans in to place a kiss on his brow. 'You're still here,' he says.

Nico pulls away, looking at his surroundings, distraught. He's in Jenson's room, the bed is small but Jenson's sitting beside him with a tired smile on his face and he thinks of lifting trophies and drinking champagne with someone, he thinks of Jenson's smile as he had won, he remembers stepping hard on some sort of pedal on a fantastic mechanical beast, and he swallows hard. Maybe it had been the two of them in another life, or maybe it was all just a dream, nothing more. He'll be back in the war front soon enough, and Jenson will still be here, far away from him.

'You're right,' Nico says, voice distracted. 'I am.'

**Author's Note:**

> ☆thank you so much [reefgirluk](http://reefgirluk.livejournal.com) for being my beta!  
> ☆this fic was inspired by the poem '[blood honey](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/245370)' by chana bloch, and although i saw the prompt after i had finished this fic, i suppose that it's also a fill for [this prompt on motorskink](http://motorskink.livejournal.com/4189.html?thread=1480285#t1480285)!


End file.
